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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632399">An Affinity For Magic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly'>Butterfly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Alternate Universe - No Fillory (The Magicians), Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, M/M, Minor Julia Wicker/James, Minor William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz, Multi, the mature rating is mostly due to swearing and implied sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:47:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26632399</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot and Margo have almost finished their education at Brakebills. Real life is looming ever closer and they have no idea what they want to do next. Quentin is an impoverished duke, ready to give up on love and marry for practicality. But when a magical mishap brings Quentin from the 1800s and into the 21st century, he crashes into their lives, bringing the opportunity for them to find purpose and maybe even love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Quentin Coldwater/Margo Hanson/Eliot Waugh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Magicians Happy Ever After</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Many thanks to <a href="https://ewm003.tumblr.com/">ewm003</a> for the beta!</p>
<p>The story is based on 'Kate and Leopold' and was written for The Magicians Happy Ever After.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Quentin ducked back around the corner, feeling vaguely ridiculous as he did so. This was the townhouse </span>
  <em>
    <span>he'd</span>
  </em>
  <span> rented, after all. The odd woman was the one who should be trying to hide, not him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> she?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not a servant, not with that air about her. Yet she didn't walk like a lady and her dress seemed… wrong, and not merely in last season's sense. He'd never had much of a head for the intricacies of ladies' bits and bobs — Jules had chided him on it more than once. Even James had said Quentin was hopeless. Yet there was an indefinable </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrongness</span>
  </em>
  <span> about the woman's clothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was trying to hide her pale blonde hair under a hat but it seemed much shorter than fashionable, even for an American. And she- there, as she scuttled up the stairs, she fumbled with her skirts and near tripped on them, as if she hadn't spent a lifetime learning to navigate the things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Far past peculiar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Discreetly, he followed her to the upper floor but found no one at all in the rooms above. Had she clambered out of a window? Yet none of them appeared disturbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn't look as though she'd liberated anything from his rooms, nor planted any dangerous papers for someone to discover. Was she a ghost, perhaps, some specter from the past who used to live here? That might explain her peculiarities. While Quentin had yet to see a ghost, or any true evidence of such a being existing, it would make for an enjoyable story to tell once he got home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He checked over the rooms again, to make certain she wasn't hiding in a closet or tucked underneath a bed. Not a sign of anything out of the ordinary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin dusted off his coat. He'd made a grand show, back home, of how reluctant he'd been to leave his valet behind, but it was an honest relief not to have someone hovering over him at all times. That was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> trouble of being the third son and unexpectedly inheriting. All those comforts that his elder brothers had taken for granted seemed to sit uneasily on Quentin's shoulders, even more than a year after…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, in truth, it had been a comfort to let the man go and not have to worry about his salary on top of all of the other expenses. All those years and not one of his family had told Quentin that the entire duchy was drowning in debt, not until it had all landed on his head and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was expected to solve it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jules' offer had seemed like a gift from above — come and visit her in New York, find a rich heiress among the title-hungry Americans, and then go home and finally do something to make his mother proud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Quentin was finding himself liking New York, and America, more than he had expected, he found that he could not say the same about the girls that Jules had paraded before him. Oh, they all seemed to match his mother's requirements near enough — pretty, biddable, youthful and, most importantly, with fathers as rich as Croesus — but Quentin was finding that his desires and his mother's requirements were far from aligning. Perhaps that was why his mind was conjuring up mysterious young women for him to chase after.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to do as Jules had recommended — forget about his novels and focus on the real world and the real troubles ahead of him. What did it matter that none of the girls he'd met here excited his mind or his lust? He had obligations to the estate and the title. And perhaps after he'd married the girl, he could do what the nobility had done for centuries and find himself a mistress… a widow, perhaps, with experience but no expectations. Someone he could talk to as an equal, who would call him 'Q' or at least 'Quentin' and not 'your grace'.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or even — though it would be dangerous — he could find a discreet gentleman companion. He hadn't done anything beyond the occasional fumbling tryst, not as a third son, but as a duke...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still a risk. But thinking of it made the prospect of marriage feel a bit less like locking himself into a cage. And a girl married for her fortune would surely have different, more practical desires from a husband than one who'd married for love, as Jules had done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin went downstairs and back to his preparations for the evening. He had as few staff employed as he'd felt his position would let him get away with — it felt vaguely unnatural to have any at all, though that was his own fault, most likely. Still, he felt a pang of nostalgia for the books and quiet company he'd left behind at university, though it was good to be able to see Jules again, after so many years of only exchanging letters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jules and James made him feel welcome enough when he arrived at their home a handful of hours later, but the jumble of noise from inside had Quentin wincing in the anticipation of pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's a crush, I know," Jules said, and she knew him well enough that it came out as an apology and not a boast. "Your admirers would not be denied, I fear."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Half of them don't have invitations," James added, rather more cheerfully. "But they do have bosoms, which seemed more to the purpose."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dearest</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Jules said, in a tone that would have flattened Quentin to the ground with shame had it been directed at him. "Respect our guests and his grace."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mildly shamefaced, James mumbled, "Ah, well, yes. They seem like charming and well-bred young ladies. You'll be delighted to spend time with them. Your grace."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin couldn't help but laugh, even as the larger part of him dreaded what was to come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> dreadful, for two eternal hours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, he saw her again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His nosy blonde ghost girl. Well, perhaps not a ghost, as other people gave her courteous nods of greeting. Nothing overly familiar, though, and he would wager she was as much a stranger to them as she was to him. He watched in fascination as she maneuvered her way through the crowd, tucked herself into a corner behind a potted plant, and pulled something slim and dark and… shiny?... out of her sleeve and frowned at it. Her lips formed around what he was startled to realize was an extremely rude curse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She slipped out from behind the plant and headed — circuitously — towards Jules and James's staircase. Quentin muttered a quick apology to the lady he'd been… well, mostly ignoring… and gave chase.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wouldn't let that woman disappear into thin air again, not without getting some answers out of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was in a rush tonight, too hurried to so much as glance behind her. Late for an appointment with a spymaster? Certainly she could have no legitimate reasons to be going into the private chambers of a house that was not her own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, but she wasn't heading to Jules and James's bedchamber after all, but towards what he was nearly certain was a discreet linen closet. She flung open the door and fairly tossed herself inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without letting himself pause for thought, for if he had let himself think, he surely would have delayed too long and lost her again, Quentin followed suit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There was a muffled banging upstairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, Margo was all for banging, muffled or otherwise, but she was pretty sure — after angling her head and listening a moment — that the sound was coming from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Quinn's</span>
  </em>
  <span> room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice Quinn was a lot of things, but 'noisy' usually didn't appear on the list. Being basically the professional gossip for Brakebills, it was Margo's </span>
  <em>
    <span>duty</span>
  </em>
  <span> to investigate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, the question was whether she should be sneaky or upfront about it. And, well, when she put it like that, there was really no choice at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo went up the stairs quietly, because she did want to catch Alice — or Alice's intruder! What a thought! — by surprise, but then used a sly spell to slip through Alice's wards so that she could-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Didn't think you had it in you," Margo admitted, as Alice's eyes practically bulged out of her face when the door slammed open against the wall. "Scandalous, Quinn. Simply scandalous. Is he a muggle?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Actually, now that Margo was able to get a better look, Alice wasn't embracing the man in passion. He was actually unconscious, held up by magic as much by Alice herself. An unconscious man. Dressed in… huh, clothes out of an historical Brit flick. Had Alice smuggled him in for shenanigans? Hard to picture her playing that kind of game with someone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shh</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Alice hissed, glancing around as if anyone with more authority here than Margo was likely to be awake. "I have to get him out of here before he wakes up."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she had been dragging him in the direction of her closet, not the door. Margo went over — despite Alice's protests — and flung open the closet door. There wasn't a portal there, not anymore, but there was residue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> kidnap someone, did you?" Margo asked. It felt… unlikely, but people could be surprising. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man groaned softly, drawing her attention. His hair was messy and loose, hiding his face, but he didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>seem</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be anyone she knew. She took a step forward, ignoring Alice's protests, and brushed his hair back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, not anyone she recognized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kinda cute, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're exhausted," Margo told Alice. "How about you tell me where he needs to go and I'll take him there?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No!" High-pitched and panicked. Well, wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> intriguing. "Margo, you can't- I have to- </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo rested her hand on her hip. Tossed her hair and considered her options. She wasn't a snitch and she didn't really want anything bribe-worthy from Quinn anyway, but it seemed like such a waste to just go to her own room for the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her silence seemed to drive up Alice's anxiety, as she frantically added, "Look, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't</span>
  </em>
  <span> help. It's for my thesis."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A person is for your thesis," Margo said, dubiously. "Did you miss the 'no lab rats' clause, Quinn?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He's not for my- he's an accident," Alice said, still not making any sense. "Please, I swear he'll be gone by morning. Just don't tell anyone."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You let me take you shopping," Margo bargained, because, actually, forcing Quinn to wear clothes that fit her </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a bribe-worthy cause, now that she'd thought about it. "Deal?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice let out a huff of frustration. She glanced down at the man in her arms, then reluctantly ground out, "Deal."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After another moment, Margo flicked her fingers in a spell she'd never really thought she'd have to use around Quinn but, well, just in case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A light mist settled onto the man's skin. He sneezed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What was that?" Alice asked, semi-hostile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just a little chastity spell," Margo said, with a shrug. "Not that I don't trust you, but he can't exactly speak for himself right now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice was </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> offended but Margo didn't really give a shit. Alice would thank her if the situation was the other way around, after all, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the muggle that a magician was hauling around for mysterious magical purposes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Margo waved her fingers in a tiny goodbye but when she left Alice's room, instead of going back to her own, she knocked on El's door.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The man — fuck, what had his name been? The duke of </span>
  <em>
    <span>where</span>
  </em>
  <span>? — sneezed again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice was so fucked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn't been able to re-create the portal. And Margo knew he was here. Not that she knew who he was or where he was from — when he was from — but what she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know was bad enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Using leverage and some magic, Alice shifted the duke of wherever onto her bed and plopped down next to him, studying him fretfully. She hadn't planned for this. He shouldn't even have been able to see that she was out of place. Her glamour should have kept her completely out of his thoughts. What had gone so wrong?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled out her notes, searched frantically through them. Maybe she could try contacting her aunt and seeing if she could help? She was the one person Alice knew who wouldn't let anything slip about her screw-up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her parents </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> find out about this. Her mother would never let her live it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily, the man seemed to have settled into an uneasy sleep, now that he was on a bed. Why had he followed her through the portal? Had she made a mistake in her casting?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took hours to pour through her notes and try again and again to cast the spell. The worst of it was that she couldn't figure out why it wasn't working. The Circumstances couldn't have changed </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much, could they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sun crept up outside her window, a slice of light moving steadily across her bed until-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"-so you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> real," the man said, voice thick with sleep, his hand landing heavily on her shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice fell off the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man peered over at her, brow creasing. "Where are we? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you a ghost? Did I follow you into the afterlife?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You thought I was a ghost?" Alice managed, disbelieving. "Why would you- not the point. Can you just… sit there quietly while I figure out how to send you back?" She stood back up, straightened out her skirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You changed your clothes," the man — she really should ask him his name — commented mildly. "It's not terribly appropriate for us to be alone together, miss, especially with you dressed… like that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her glamour- it must have faded when she came back through. She swore, which made the man's brow furrow even more deeply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I need to be getting back," he said, though he sounded reluctant. "If you aren't certain of the way, some kind soul will surely be able to provide directions."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice flung herself in front of her door, earning herself a raised eyebrow from-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Who </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, anyway?" she asked, exasperated. Now both of his eyebrows were raised high.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You snuck into my house and into a party held in my honor and yet you don't know my name," he said, sounding more confused than insulted. "Hmm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Call me Quentin."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Quentin?" It was kinda old-fashioned and fancy, though more a name she would associate with her dad's obsessions than with England. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Or just 'Q'," he added, cheerfully. He turned away from the door and then- oh, no, he was looking out her window at the students below. None of whom were dressed anything like the people in his own time. "We haven't any mutual acquaintances around to perform a formal introduction, so you should provide your own name, if you like, miss."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Alice," she said, and he gave a soft little laugh. She relaxed a bit, though she stayed in front of the door. Maybe he wouldn't do anything else rash. "I do have a plan to get you home, it's just complicated to explain."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hummed thoughtfully, then sidled sideways, snagging up her papers from her desk before she realized they were his target. Surely, he wouldn't be able to read them, not with them in- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ancient Greek. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>delightful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Are you a bluestocking, Miss Alice? My dearest friend is, though she doesn't like to admit it." Quentin was flipping through the pages with a lot more interest than she was comfortable with him showing. "Hmm, but this talks of- of magic."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice tried to rip the pages away from him, but he held on tightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I need- it's rude of you to steal my work," Alice attempted. He didn't budge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was exceedingly rude of you to invade my home, Miss Alice," he countered. "I still haven't received an explanation or an apology."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her phone vibrated furiously on her desk, which distracted him long enough that she was able to yank away her research. Unfortunately, it also meant he was looking at her phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's the device you were fiddling with at the party," he said, which was another bad sign. He shouldn't have been able to see it at all. It should have been hidden by her glamour. Why had none of her protective magic worked correctly around him? "I've never seen anything like it. What is it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's… a lady… thing," Alice said, woefully aware of how unconvincing she sounded. "A compact."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A what?" Quentin flipped her phone over in his hands and poked at it, blinking and nearly dropping it when the screen lit up. At least the passcode would keep him from accidentally accessing it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not yours," Alice pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I suppose you're right," he said and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>tossed</span>
  </em>
  <span> it at her. Alice flailed in shock, grabbing for it before it could hit the ground and he was- shit, he was brushing past her and hurrying out the door. She rushed after him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hall was empty, at least. She held in a sigh of relief. Now, she just had to get him back into her room and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-and he was heading toward the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I rather like the decor," he said as he went, as though he were not aware of her desperate motions for him to go back to her room. "The wood is stained beautifully. And polished to perfection."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Quentin, will you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> get back here," she hissed. And then she saw a door — Eliot Waugh's door — opening up much too closely near them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What a terrible racket," Eliot said, leaning his whole tall self against the doorframe. He didn't look surprised, which meant… well, of course Margo had told him. Alice hadn't really expected otherwise, though she had hoped. He gave Quentin a sweeping glance up and down. "Hmm, so you're Alice's new muggle friend, I assume. I'm Eliot. Pleased to meet you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin stopped short, gave Eliot a considering look, and then a brief bow. "The pleasure is mine, Eliot. Call me 'Quentin'."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Formal and </span>
  <em>
    <span>British</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Eliot said, sounding much too delighted. "No wonder Quinn had no idea what to do with you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Look, Eliot, we don't have time to-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nonsense," Eliot said, with a careless wave of his hand. "You told Margo that your friend would be gone by morning. He is, quite clearly, still here and I, for one, would love to get to know him better."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You would?" Quentin asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Alice countered but she was feeling everything slipping even further out of her hands. "He's not interesting, I promise."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How unbearably rude of you," Eliot said, a smile hidden at the corner of his mouth, the jerk. He took Quentin by the elbow, earning himself a raised eyebrow but not, Alice was disgruntled to note, as annoyed a look as she'd received earlier. "Quentin, do let me take you on a tour of the campus. I doubt Quinn already did and, even if she had, mine is guaranteed to be better."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Too kind," Quentin said and he left with Eliot without so much as a glance backwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If she were the sort of person to punch walls…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Surely talking to Eliot couldn't do too much harm. Alice crossed her fingers and, reluctantly, got back to her notes, because trying to keep Quentin under control would mean very little if she couldn't send him back to where he belonged.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin — who around Eliot's age, or maybe a couple of years younger — went along with Eliot with little fuss. He was cuter than Margo had said, with wide eyes and an expressive mouth and hair down to his shoulders. Of course, he was also conscious now, which probably helped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot hadn't heard much of the argument between Quentin and Alice, but he wasn't sure he needed to. It hadn't sounded like a lovers' tiff, hadn't sounded like they knew each other very well at all, so it would have been positively cruel of Eliot to continue to let them clash off against each other as they'd been doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Who is Margo?" Quentin asked, and his voice was soft and pleasant, now that they were away from Alice. "I haven't had the pleasure, though it sounds as if she has."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You arrived last night, all clandestinely and unconscious," Eliot said, in a hushed tone. "Margo was concerned about your welfare but Alice insisted that she would soon have you on your way, so she didn't bring it up with the Dean."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're at university, then," Quentin said, as if Eliot had confirmed a suspicion. He glanced around at the students crisscrossing the paths with them. "America truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a land of opportunity."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot blinked a bit at that. Surely, Quentin hadn't believed that there were no universities in America?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Did Alice bring you here from England?" he asked. Bambi had mentioned portal residue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Heavens, I hope I wouldn't sleep through so long a journey," Quentin said, which confirmed his non-magic origins as far as Eliot was concerned. "I've been in America near a month." Somewhat wistfully, he added, "It's good to be back among students again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, on a bench just in front of them, Kady twirled Penny into a kiss — and they floated a good foot into the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The choking sound that Quentin made was fairly priceless. Alice really </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> brought a muggle to school. Naughty girl. Shame that meant Quentin's memory would need to be wiped before he left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"America," Quentin said, faintly. Eliot patted him on the shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There, there. Don't get too freaked out. Just a little levitation. All the cool kids do it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin didn't seem to hear him, still staring at Penny and Kady. He seemed to be working something out in his head, judging by the strained concentration on his face. Eliot tugged him away before the staring became too obvious. Penny was easy-going enough, but Kady had a temper on her and Eliot didn't want Quentin to get scolded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Technically, Eliot had a class in a few minutes, but he spent the next few hours with Quentin anyway. It was more interesting — Quentin asked a lot of questions, some of them fairly odd, and answered any of Eliot's return questions rather vaguely, which made it all feel like a game.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mostly, he had learned that Quentin was in America visiting his best friend and her husband, and not much beyond that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were grabbing lunch when Todd — of all people — came over and interrupted them, saying, quite urgently, "Eliot, you need to bring your new friend to the Dean's office."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ah, time was up, then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But when they got to Fogg's office, Eliot didn't see any sign of Professor Van Der Weghe — which might only mean that Fogg wanted to interrogate Quentin a bit before having his memory wiped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're the head of this university?" Quentin asked, once they'd been let into Fogg's office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Things aren't quite as you expect, I assume," Fogg said to Quentin, before turning towards Eliot. "Thanks for entertaining him, but I can take over now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I quite enjoy his company," Quentin said, mildly but with an edge of authority that Eliot hadn't heard before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you?" And Fogg actually sounded like he thought that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>funny</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "Well, far be it from me to break up a burgeoning bromance."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin got that crease between his eyebrows that meant someone had used a term he was unfamiliar with — Eliot had seen it a few times this morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I've spoken with Miss Quinn and she explained that you followed her here by mistake. How much do you know?" Fogg had gotten up from his desk and was playing with his globe — the one enchanted to pick out unwitting potential magicians.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot felt his interest sharpen, suddenly quite glad that Quentin had insisted that he stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A great deal in some respects," Quentin said. "But very little here, I fear. The way people speak and act…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Quentin… may I call you 'Quentin'? Miss Quinn didn't have another name to offer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It will do as well as any other," Quentin said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Quentin, then. What year would you say we're in?" Fogg sat back down behind his desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What an intriguing question," Quentin said, and Eliot had to agree. "Tis the year of Our Lord, eighteen-hundred eighty-four. Would you name a different one?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot realized his mouth had fallen open, so he hastily shut it. So Quinn hadn't just kidnapped someone, she'd kidnapped someone from </span>
  <em>
    <span>the past</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It wasn't supposed to be possible. Fogg, though, seemed completely unphased, merely steepling his hands in front of him on his desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What would you say if I told you that date was off by over a hundred years, Mister Quentin?" Fogg asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence, then Quentin nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would say what a truly great pity it is that my dearest friend is not here with me," Quentin said, with a shocking amount of calm. "For we were both terribly fond of stories of magic and wonder as children."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's not a surprise," Fogg said. How it was possible anything about this could </span>
  <em>
    <span>not be a surprise</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the real surprise. "You — and your friend — have you always felt a little out of place, like you didn't quite fit into the world around you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Always," Quentin said, with no hesitation.  "To the dismay of my family."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You have the potential to become a magician yourself. And if she shares your feelings, your friend might as well." Fogg seemed awfully satisfied with his pronouncement. "And, since Miss Quinn is having some trouble figuring a way to send you back home, I thought I might extend a temporary offer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"To learn magic?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Precisely. Now, I'd ask for something in exchange, of course," Fogg said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What price would you ask?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your silence, Mister Quentin, once you are sent home again," Fogg said. "We can't have you telling the rest of your world about magic, after all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin didn't answer right away. He studied Fogg's face, then strolled around the office, occasionally leaning in more closely to examine an item in more detail, but no touching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I will agree under one condition," Quentin said, matter-of-factly. "You must allow me to tell my friend, Julia. She isn't a chatterbox, I swear." After a moment, he added, "Oh, I suppose I can't tell her and </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell her husband. Not fair to ask her to keep a secret from him. But they will be close mouthed about it. I swear it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Agreed," Fogg said, and he had a smugness in his tone that Eliot recognized but suspected that Quentin didn't. "I'll have the contract drawn up by tomorrow. While you're here… hmm, do you want to stay with Miss Quinn?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're asking if I wish to share a bedchamber with a young lady with whom I have only the barest acquaintance?" This was, apparently, </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> more shocking than the existence of magic. "My dear sir… that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of the question." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We don't have any empty rooms in the Cottage, not unless you're officially enrolling him," Eliot reminded Fogg. Or maybe he just felt the need to remind both of them that he was there at all. It wasn't like Fogg didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> all of the dorms created rooms as needed by the enrollment process. "But he can stay in my room if that isn't considered… rude."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That would be acceptable," Quentin said with a swiftness which gave Eliot a brief regretful pang. He wasn't someone Quentin thought of as a temptation to his virtue, then. Pity, since he would be staying a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Glad we could settle things," Fogg said, in a familiar tone that meant he was done with the conversation, at least for the moment. Eliot reached out and tapped Quentin's shoulder, which earned him a small but lovely smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they were outside, Quentin put his hands behind his back and stared up at the cloudy sky a moment before saying, "The future is not as different as I had thought it might be."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Being at Brakebills is deceptive," Eliot said, beginning them on a stroll back to the Cottage. "Since you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> sticking around a while, we might have to take you into the city so that you can get the real experience of the twenty-first century."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We… you and this 'Margo' that you've mentioned? I should like a proper introduction, as it seems she is very dear to you," Quentin said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Talking about Bambi was always a joy, so Eliot told a couple of shorter stories as they made their way back, making sure to emphasize Margo's clever mind. They went up to Eliot's room and Quentin watched as Eliot prompted the room to create another, smaller bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You can have mine," Eliot said, generously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would not dream of displacing you," Quentin said, sitting on the bed Eliot had created and running his hand along the sheets. "Is this permanent?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aaaah, sort of? It's tied to the spells on the room. It'd disappear if we tried to take it out the door," Eliot admitted, sitting down next to Quentin. "But still a neat trick, right?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door banged open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"El! I heard-" she noticed Quentin, her eyes lighting up even more. "Word is, you and mystery boy from last night talked to Fogg. And now there's an extra bed? Tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dropped down next to Eliot on the bed, immediately draping herself over him so that she could stare curiously at Quentin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Margo, this is Quentin, who hasn't yet told any of us his last name. Quentin— Margo Hanson, also known as Bambi to an exclusive club of me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Charmed, Miss Hanson," Quentin said, apparently choosing to ignore the rest of what Eliot said. "Utterly charmed to make your acquaintance. Eliot has been praising you to the Heavens."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Completely true, every word," Margo declared cheerfully. "Are you a new student? Quinn called you 'an accident' last night."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, my being here is entirely my own fault, though I certainly cannot regret it," Quentin said, eyes warm. "The notion of learning magic thrills me to my bones. I wonder if this means there's truth to all those old tales?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You, sir, sound like a nerd," Margo said, relief and delight hiding in her mildly mocking tone. Quentin's brow creased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You like knowledge, especially about things most people don't pay attention to," Eliot translated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then I suppose I am a 'nerd'," Quentin said. "I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been known to bore others at parties by rambling on, tis true, though in recent days the fear of being seen as impolite traps them at my side until I notice their attention has wandered."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you start to bore Bambi, don't worry, you'll know immediately," Eliot said. "She isn't shy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I have yet to meet anyone here who is," Quentin said.  "Not that I object. I have experienced rather too many shy young ladies in the last month."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, Eliot loved Margo more than anything on this Earth or beyond, but he found himself becoming increasingly interested in whether or not she would realize by herself that Quentin wasn't just a visitor from across the pond. Everything had been fairly vague and ambiguous so far.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Poor you," Margo teased, reaching over and tapping her hand against Quentin's arm playfully. "And there's no need to call me 'Miss Hanson'. You call Eliot by </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> first name, after all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot prepared himself for Margo's potential reaction to what Quentin might say — she was never afraid to loudly call out double-standards. It was part of why he adored her. But Quentin surprised him by saying, "You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> all less formal, aren't you? Very well, 'Margo' it is. And you may both call me 'Q' if you like."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Q," Margo said, testing the word. Quentin's eyes were on her mouth and— </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he was attracted to her. Well, of course, he was. Bambi was gorgeous. And she'd thought he was cute, too, at least she'd thought that when he was unconscious. Eliot would need to check with her again but… a cute boy who would definitely not be sticking around sounded like Margo's idea of a dream fling, to be perfectly honest. "So, Q, why did Quinn freak out so much about you being here? I thought it was because you were a muggle, but you can't be if they're letting you stay."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Her magic goes wrong when she tries to send me back," Quentin said, looking too delighted to be throwing around the word 'magic' to manage to sound casual. "Apparently, it's complicated."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fogg couldn't, either?" Then she ducked her head down against Eliot's shoulder and laughed. Figured it out, then. "Right, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> clothes. Her </span>
  <em>
    <span>thesis</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I'm not asking the right questions. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you from, Q?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd love to know what you think, if you would be willing," Quentin said, which began twenty minutes of roundabout questioning and a triumphant cry from Margo when she narrowed it down to the correct decade. "You know a lot about fashion." Quentin sounded impressed which, well, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "You're nothing like the-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Gonna stop you right there, buddy," Margo said, raising a hand. "Don't ruin this moment by throwing a 'not like the other girls' at me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin's brow furrowed but he didn't challenge her on it. Eliot wondered if he'd get questions later, when the two of them were alone. He wasn't sure if he had the right knowledge set to answer them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're a fascinating woman," Quentin said, after a pause. "Both of you have been considerably more indulgent than Miss Quinn, who has treated me more as an undesirable nuisance than anything else."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Indulgence is our signature sin." Eliot flung an arm around Quentin's shoulders, and while Quentin </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> glance down curiously, he made no move to shake it off. "And if you're stuck here for a while, why not have some fun."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It'll be a nice little vacation," Margo said. "Though I doubt you had an actual job, from the looks of you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I do not," Quentin agreed, though he looked amused by it. "But I look forward to learning about… about magic and about the sorts of indulgences you have in this century."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then it sounds like time to get you a drink," Eliot said, squeezing Quentin's shoulders. "Long past time."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"You have to- ugh, no, fuck it, let me show you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eliot poured a drink as he watched Margo grab at Quentin's hands in frustration, repositioning his fingers. Quentin was… well, fine at magic. No prodigy, certainly, but willing to study. He'd proven </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much over the last three weeks. If he and Alice hadn't gotten off on the wrong foot, they'd probably have made fairly decent study-buddies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he was the sort of cute that only got cuter on further acquaintance, which Eliot had always found enviable. Q hadn't been lying about his tendency to chatter on, but Eliot had always had a spot spot for nerds, so that was a plus instead of a minus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How does your hand even bend that way?" Quentin complained, but he said it while trying to follow Margo's directions. "It's like you don't have bones."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Natural grace," Margo said pertly. "And a shit-ton of practice." They looked good together, though neither of them had made a move — Eliot would definitely know if they had. He'd gone back and forth a bit about Quentin since they'd met, honestly. Quentin was definitely attracted to girls — to Margo — but there were moments…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A week ago, for instance, after Quentin had come back from a magical theory class that Margo and Eliot were too high-level to attend with him — he'd been quite somber at first, saying nothing except that "Mr. Adiyodi" and "Miss Orloff-Diaz" had told him something that "changed my perspective about some future plans" but remained tight-lipped on what that might mean. Nothing they'd been able to say had shaken him out his mood, so Eliot had made them all drinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drunk Quentin hadn't been any more forthcoming about his conversation with Kady and Penny than Sober Quentin had been, but the alcohol </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> inspired him to talk about his friends "Jules and James" and something about the way he'd described both of them had pinged the 'old crush' bell in Eliot's head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was small enough that Eliot should probably just dismiss it, but he found himself having a hard time doing that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Cause you wanna bang him, duh," Margo told Eliot, firmly, about an hour later when Quentin had gone off to the library. "Anyway, go for it. He could disappear any day. Fuck while the iron's hot."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You haven't," Eliot countered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm building an atmosphere," Margo said blithely but then, sounding more serious, "You think I couldn't tell you were into him? If you wanna compete, that's one thing, but you're my best friend, for fuck's sake. I'm not gonna poach. Why haven't </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> made a move?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eliot sighed and took another drink. He wasn't sure himself. There was something about Quentin that made him hold himself back — something in the pit of his stomach that felt like a warning. Danger, here be dragons. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a good thing that Quentin would be leaving eventually. No strings and all that. But…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Building an atmosphere," he said, parroting Margo's words with a slight edge of self-mockery. </span>
</p><p><span>And so passed a month. Then two. Alice seemed increasingly frustrated at her failed attempts to send Quentin back home while Quentin settled into the role of student with open giddiness. He was, honestly, not just </span><em><span>kind</span></em> <em><span>of</span></em><span> a nerd but a major-league one.</span></p><p>
  <span>He still spoke of his present-past in vague terms — Eliot had no idea what Quentin had been doing on a day-to-day basis on the day he'd come to their time — but he'd opened up about his days away at school, about how he'd missed his best friend, Jules, much more than his family, which was certainly a sentiment that Eliot could understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it was the beginning of his third month with them, and Quentin was getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>philosophical</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is time passing there at the same rate as here, or will I go back the same day I left?" Was how the conversation had begun, but after about two hours, it had turned more melancholy, as Quentin had said, "I must go back, but part of me dreads what awaits."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What awaits?" Eliot responded, which made Margo snort. They were in her room tonight, decompressing and chatting and, oh yes, definitely drinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Marriage," Quentin said, bleakly. "And, God help me, perhaps even a faithful one. I suppose I owe it to the girl."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You’re engaged?" Margo asked, raising an eyebrow. "This never came up before."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I most certainly am not," Quentin said, almost indignantly, which was… well, good to hear, honestly, though somewhat confusing. "But that is not a state of affairs that can continue indefinitely." He swirled his drink in its glass and stared down at it. "I have an obligation to my family to marry, and to marry well, but I find myself singularly unenthused about the matter. This has been… a reprieve, in many ways, a time when I could ignore the inevitable future."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just don't get married, then," Margo said. "Why make yourself miserable to please your asshole family?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the look in Quentin's eyes didn't change, though the corners of his lips twitched in an attempt at a smile. "Would that it were possible, dear Margo."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> it?" Eliot pressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, it seemed as though Quentin would dismiss the question again, but then he said, with a rueful undertone, "Crass as it is to admit it, my family is hopelessly mired in debt."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, fuck, of course, it's about money," Margo said, with an annoyed shake of her head and a roll of her eyes. "Every damn thing in this world is, it seems."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin raised his glass in her direction and then swallowed down the drink much too quickly for him to be really appreciating it. "So, you can understand why Miss Quinn's slow progress is not entirely displeasing. I spent much of my life not planning to marry at all, and I'm not looking forward to… ah, I know you don't wish me to speak ill of the ladies of my time, but, Margo dearest, they are </span>
  <em>
    <span>taught</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be pretty baubles. It takes precious time to get any of them to admit to being anything else. My friend Jules is nigh-unrecognizable to me when we're at a party together."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You didn't plan on marrying?" Eliot asked, telling himself he was asking out of pure curiosity and not self-interest. "Why not?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A third son is rarely sought-after," Quentin said, without rancor or self-pity. "And I am not at my best with strangers. I never felt much fondness over the idea of sharing living space with a near-stranger." He shrugged. "I would only wish to marry someone already a friend. Nowadays, this wouldn't limit my options as severely, I suppose, but in my own life, once Jules married, there were no other ladies in my life that I knew well enough to wish them to share my household."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nowadays?" Margo asked in sharp inquiry, setting aside her own drink. "What's different about now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've been reading up on social changes," Quentin said. "And men can marry each other, yes? At least in some places."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eliot shared a glance with Margo, who smiled at him, sly and pleased. "They can," Eliot confirmed. "You'd marry a guy?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin raised both eyebrows. "This shouldn't shock you, surely, not with your own preferences? Though, ah-" He paused, eyes narrowing slightly.  "Different cues. Not just due to time, but to culture as well? Very well. I have dallied with both in my life, though not extensively, and with men more often than ladies."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because if you fucked a nice girl, she'd expect marriage," Margo surmised and Quentin nodded ruefully. "So, I've probably screwed more girls than you have."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Probably," Quentin agreed, good-naturedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eliot should have already known what was coming next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We could raise that number for you," Margo offered, in a blithe tone of voice that didn't match the seriousness in her eyes. "El and I have double-teamed before. Would be willing to do it again."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blunt as fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin blinked in surprise, but he didn't seem insulted or put off. "If Eliot also… well. I have no objection."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not the sexiest way to accept a proposition," Eliot pointed out. "You actually wanna do this thing, Q?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A certain sense of…" Quentin trailed off, examining both of them closely. Then he said, softly, "Yes. I would be honored. You're lovely people and you've been kind."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't get sappy," Margo said, but with that twist to her mouth that meant she'd liked it. Then she leaned forward and kissed Quentin square on the mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What happened next was a little blurry in the morning, when they woke up all mixed-up together. They'd all been drinking, so the night was remembered more in flashes than anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margo's hair getting in his mouth the first time he tried to kiss Quentin, making them all laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin letting out a gratifyingly startled noise when he saw Eliot's dick the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margo's breathy moan as Quentin licked at her, her hands buried in his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin's mouth, pressed against Eliot's shoulder as he shamelessly asked for more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eliot knew it couldn't last, of course, for reasons both obvious and not but that didn't make it any less nice to have, at least for now.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alice glared resentfully over her notebook at Dean Fogg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Experiment sixteen is officially a failure," she told him. He made a humming sound that she'd grown familiar with over the last three months. Every failure elicited that thoughtful hum and then he expected </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be the one to adjust the spell and try again. And, yes, okay, it was her thesis but she didn't understand why the Dean was so unbothered by Quentin's continued existence in their time. "And the bubble grew another ten feet today."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Dean was the one who'd first called it 'the bubble' but the name has stuck. If it had been up to Alice, she would have preferred something at least a little more serious, considering what it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if Quentin himself being here wasn't enough for the Dean to take seriously, an expanding magical bubble that broke all medical magic seemed somewhat urgent!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The rate of growth is still accelerating," the Dean noted, marking down a note. "I'll let Lipson know that she'll need to move the healing students again if Quentin is still here in two weeks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He isn't even that strong a magician," Alice muttered. Unkind, maybe, but true. Quentin showed an aptitude for small domestic magic but nothing world-shattering. It made no sense that removing Quentin from the timeline could break magic like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sometimes, our strengths lie not in what we know, but in what we share," the Dean said, cryptically. "Now, Miss Quinn, what are your thoughts on how to adjust your casting for attempt seventeen?"</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Good companionship, a near endless supply of new knowledge, the thrill of exploring magic… everything about the future had been bliss so far. Well, nearly everything, if he ignored the nagging voice of his own conscience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, all of the wonders of the future had paled in comparison to the night he'd spent with Eliot and Margo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin pondered that thought in solitude, having beat a hasty retreat on the morning after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It changed nothing. That was the regrettable truth. Once Miss Quinn found him a path home, Quentin needs must follow it. Not just duty to his title demanded this but also…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He missed his dearest friend. Julia was farther  now than she'd been when they were an ocean apart, and he missed her like an ache on his bones. She would be as delighted as he had been to discover that magic was real, eager to see if he could teach her what he'd learned at Brakebills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, though she hadn't given him much detail of the greater danger to the world, Miss Quinn had made it clear that one existed. A man could not forever live out of his own time. The world demanded a price.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Quentin was determined to soak up as much of this time as he could, while he was here. There was such a tremendous amount of the world to enjoy — New York was a frenetic delight. Margo and Eliot hadn't minded taking the time to dress him appropriately to the period, and he was even, slowly, finding himself able to create an acquaintance with other students at Brakebills, though none of the others had Margo and Eliot's amused fondness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, as he thought over last night, he flipped through the pages of a book Margo had lent him, one of her favorites — </span>
  <em>
    <span>The World in the Walls</span>
  </em>
  <span> — the first in a series. It wasn't long before he found himself distracted by the Chatwin siblings and their adventures in the world of Fillory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were not in such a different situation, after all, transported to a world so unlike their own, magic all around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Is that more nerd shit?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, Miss Orloff-Diaz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kady," came the correction from Penny, her near-constant companion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin placed a marker in the book and lifted his eyes, though he did not stand. Women in the future — at least all he'd met so far, did not consider that an essential politeness and, honestly, he was rather grateful for that difference. Though he wasn't always certain how to behave without the steadiness of known rules.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Kady. Penny," Quentin said. "Have you read the Fillory books too?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shared but wordless moment of disgust passed between Kady and Penny. "I'd rather eat slugs," Kady said. "So, anyway, I got that appointment for you. Please don't thank me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin shut his mouth on his words. He still wasn't certain about their suggestion but Penny had — thanks to his telepathic gifts — saved Quentin from public embarrassment more than once over the last few months, so he would attempt this 'therapy' appointment and see what came of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, I would have had to experience it too," Penny said with a grumble. "You really gotta work on how loud your thoughts are and if therapy helps with that, I am all for it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin was certainly willing to try, at least. Of all the things he might have expected from the future, the idea that his melancholy thoughts might be something other than a permanent defect of character was… and that there might be a way to make them less overwhelming… Penny and Kady might not want his thanks but they more than deserved it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's a magician, too," Kady added. "So you don't have to lie and shit. Makes it easier."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him the details and, then, well, the two of them generally always had plans of their own, so they were off, after that, and Quentin was left alone again with his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But not for long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margo came downstairs, looking grumpy until she spotted him. She came over and swatted at his elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, it's a dick move to sneak out the morning after. For future reference." Then she tilted her head slightly, studying his face. "Regrets? You look constipated."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin laughed and set his book aside. "No regrets, though my memory isn't as clear as I'd prefer."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That a flirt, Q?" Margo asked archly. Then her eyes landed on the book and she lit up. "More importantly, do you like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fillory</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, most definitely," Quentin enthused. "I'm finding it both clever and emotional."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were still talking about Fillory when Eliot came downstairs a while later. He took one look at them, grinned, and then made them all something to eat. Eliot was a surprisingly good cook, though when Quentin had asked where he'd learned, Eliot had deflected the question. 'We need more time together before you unlock my backstory', he'd said, and he'd been smiling but it hadn't reached his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the food was delicious and the rest of the conversation delightful — for though Eliot played at not being familiar with Margo's favorite books, he would toss out a quip now and then that made it clear he knew more than he was admitting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was… a very good morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quentin's therapy appointment, a few days later, was equal parts illuminating and frustrating. The therapist, who'd asked Quentin to call him 'Oliver', had listened to Quentin talk for what felt like an eternity before asking some questions that Quentin had found himself utterly unequipped to answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He certainly spent enough — some would argue far too much — time fretting over himself and his own concerns, but he'd never thought about any of that in </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> this way before. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't lose heart," Dean Fogg said, though the reassurance in his words was somewhat marred by the fact that he didn't even look up from his newspaper. "You'll figure it out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice mightily resisted the urge to sigh… or scream. Twenty-three tries and she didn't feel any closer at all. And the bubble grew by the day, yet their own Dean didn't seem concerned at all that half the campus was a no-go zone for healing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why do you want him here?" she asked, not really expecting an answer, or at least not a useful one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's a dedicated student," Fogg said, still not looking up. "Besides, it's your thesis on the line, not mine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alice didn't resist her sigh this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time to start working on twenty-four.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, shit, El," Margo said, her own heart clenching in sympathy. "You know we can't keep him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eliot didn't look like he'd heard her, still gazing out the window all forlorn and love-struck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fond of him, too, and the sex has been fun, but there's always been an expiration date," she continued, softening the blow by cuddling up to Eliot and giving him a kiss on the cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's been almost half a year," Eliot said. "Even if… even if Alice figures out how to send him back, maybe he wouldn't go."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margo wasn't so sure. Quentin liked them well enough, but he had this twist to his mouth when he talked about home. Either guilt towards his family or his affection for his friend Julia would win the day. Plus, there was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If he stays, people will get hurt. No more magical remedies," Margo reminded Eliot. "Are we that selfish, El?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eliot kissed her on the forehead and didn't answer.</span>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Alice said, staring down at the notes on try number thirty-seven. "It's so obvious. The Circumstances are failing because Quentin's personal Circumstances have shifted so radically. It wouldn't matter normally, but… discovering he's a magician alone would alter half a dozen…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well done, Miss Quinn," Fogg said, but Alice only barely heard him, her mind consumed with inspiration as she feverishly made adjustments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> work this time, she was sure of it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The portal opened and then snapped shut again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Problem solved," Alice told him, but Quentin's heart was beating so loudly that her voice was faint in his ears. "You can go home."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," Quentin said, faintly. Then he rallied himself. "Many congratulations, Miss Quinn. It's a genuinely impressive undertaking."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then why do you look like you're going to throw up?" she asked. Then, more sympathetically, she added, "The present does have some advantages over the past. The internet. Better hygiene."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot. Margo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice was still talking, listing things that, Quentin supposed, she personally had missed when she had visited his time, winding down with, "But you know we don't have a choice."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Does this spell send me back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I left?" Quentin asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It can," came the answer, quick and ready. "I already checked. It'll be the same time of day that you leave. I had to arrange it that way to compensate for the issue with — one of the issues, there was another about-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let her talk. It was even somewhat charming. When she reached the end and looked at him expectantly, he said, "Then tonight, you're saying. I should leave tonight, around when I arrived originally."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If that's what you want," Alice said. "The sooner the better, at least for us."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I have appointments to keep," Quentin said. And no point in delaying. Leaving Margo and Eliot would grow more difficult as time passed. "Shall we meet here?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice shrugged. Ah, location was not so important as time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then I have goodbyes to make."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>First, he went to Dean Fogg. They spoke of magic, and his friends back home. The Dean was willing to stand by his original deal, that Quentin could tell Julia and James, but no one else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I am not terribly close to any of the rest of my acquaintances, in truth," Quentin said. "So it is not a difficult promise."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he was off to visit Penny — Kady wasn't always with him, but she was today, which made things easier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you for the therapist," Quentin said. "If you could explain to him why I can't come back again, it would be a kindness."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So, you gonna go right back to the guy you used to be, when you get back there?" Penny asked bluntly and-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a fair enough question. Quentin had learned much on his journey to the future, but his world back at home had been sheltered in so many ways he hadn't realized. Having someone around who had, quite literally, gotten angry with him over the thoughts in his head had felt highly unfair at first but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he could hear other people's thoughts against his will, Quentin wasn't sure if he'd react so differently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I hope not," Quentin said, trusting that Penny would be able to mark his sincerity. Though he had not gained easy comfort with Penny, as he had with Margo and Eliot, Quentin certainly had a great deal of respect for him. "Though I suppose history will tell on that account."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, well, good luck, Coldwater," Kady said, gruffly. "We'll keep an eye out for any changes." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn't told anyone here about his title, but, oh, of course… Quentin glanced at Penny, who shrugged unapologetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Try to be less shitty than your ancestors," Penny told him. "And I'll consider it all an investment."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fair enough."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it certainly was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Quentin had to prepare for a much more difficult set of goodbyes. He had fallen into something of a pleasing routine with Eliot and Margo, 'friends with benefits', they'd called it. But his feelings were much more complicated than a phrase like that implied. Leaving them behind would be harder than leaving all the rest combined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," Eliot said, when Quentin finished telling them. He blinked a bit, lashes fluttering. Quentin studied his face — was that unhappiness borne out of losing a friend or was it…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wow, was starting to think she'd never unfuck her fuck-up," Margo said. She cleared her throat. "When… when you heading back?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Tonight," Quentin said. "Half-past nine."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's- that's soon." Eliot stood abruptly, circled around to the bar and, unasked, started pouring drinks. "Don't want to waste any time, huh?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't have to go back," Margo said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I certainly do," Quentin said. "And the cost of my staying would be rather too high, don't you think?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo waved her hard dismissively, "You know what? Fuck it. If you wanna stuck around, tell Quinn and Fogg to eat your ass, and we can find another way to stop the stupid fucking bubble."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you have any ideas?" Quentin asked drily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We could at least try," Eliot said, gesturing with his glass. "We will. If you want."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a moment — a long, gilded moment — when Quentin was truly tempted. There was, after all, a surfeit of magic in the world. Perhaps it could be put to good use here and now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An investment, Penny had said. Only slightly kidding. Back home, as a duke again, Quentin would have the power and influence to attempt to push for genuine change. Here, he was just another student. And he may have longed for that life to return to him, but...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also thought of Julia. Of how she might react to Quentin disappearing at her party and never being found. They were not as close as they had been as children, but he couldn't place that kind of grief on her shoulders. Not when he had the power to prevent it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This experience had been wonderful, a bit of a unique little Tour of his own. But it wasn't his life. It had only been a bit of pretend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My obligations cannot be ignored," Quentin said, pushing back the wave of melancholy. "But… thank you. For everything. I- this is not the ideal time, but perhaps an ideal time is a myth in any case."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're rambling," Margo said, but softly. Fondly, even. He would start with Margo, then. Quentin took her hands in his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My mother would hate you," he told her and, though he had left out some important details, he'd told her enough to know it was a compliment. "But she would respect your strength all the same. You have utterly ruined my search for a wife, you know. No matter who I marry, she will not compare to you. Not of any fault in her, but due to the perfection in you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sap," Margo said. Her eyes were wet but she would, he suspected, refuse to cry in front of him. "You can- you can pay me back by naming a kid 'Margo'. I'm not planning to have any of my own, so- kinda my only shot, I guess."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother would have hated that, too. A wife refusing to do her most important duty. A lady might despise her children — well, his mother might not go quite so far as that, he supposed — but she was obliged to have them regardless. He could almost picture the fight they would have over it, all icy insults on one side against fire and passion on the other. Margo would have won, naturally.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin smiled at the thought, leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to Margo's cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he went to Eliot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good luck with the wife hunt," Eliot said, cheerful enough if someone was inclined to ignore the strain around his eyes and his tight grip on his glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin wasn't.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I will miss you both dearly," he said, taking the glass out of Eliot's hand and taking a swallow himself. "But you shall have each other and so I know I won't have to worry either of you will be lonely. Be happy, El. You- you will spoil some lucky man shamelessly when you find the right one. I wish- I wish it could have been me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot shook his head, just the slightest movement, but he said, brightly, "Have a good life, Q. Do you-" his voice caught for a moment. "-do you want us in the room when you leave?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Easier not to," Quentin admitted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then this is the final goodbye." Eliot snorted. "Sorry, I'm being a dramatic bitch today. Ignore it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin tugged Eliot down towards him, rose up onto his toes, and kissed his forehead. "Don't stop on my account. I like you dramatic. You'd have made a much grander- ah, well. It doesn't matter now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when Quentin left, dressed once more in the clothes he'd arrived in, it was with just Miss Quinn — Alice — and Dean Fogg in the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing itself was ridiculously simple, now that the flaws had been fixed. A few hand motions, a few words. And, before him, the portal that would take him home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hesitated at the threshold. For no good reason, he supposed. Eliot and Margo were theatrical but wary of genuine sentimentality. He wasn't expecting them to burst into the room and ask once more for him to stay. Or to ask-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Can you hurry it up?" Alice asked, a bit sharp. "This isn't as easy as it was before."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The world has shifted," Fogg said, which was probably an agreement. "Best to get home. You have stories to tell. To one specific person."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Julia becomes someone special with magic, doesn't she?" And it wasn't really a question or a surprise. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waited a moment more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just in case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he said to Alice, "You aren't friends, I know, but… Margo and Eliot are more fragile than they'd admit. Would you… watch out for them?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," she said. "I promise." Quentin studied her a moment, then nodded. Not one for idle oaths, that one. He could trust her to keep her word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin walked through the portal and it sputtered out behind him, leaving nothing but a wall behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear the party downstairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There would be drinking and dancing and eligible young ladies thrust in his direction once more. Before he headed that direction, he concentrated, whispered a handful of words and felt his face warm as an invisible flame danced in his hand. He released it, along with a relieved breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least he was still a magician.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm fine," Margo snapped, but Alice's expression didn't budge. "Stop hovering already!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Look, we've never been friends," Alice said, her voice frank. "And that's fine with me. But you aren't fine. Neither is Eliot." After a moment, she added, "I think he was hoping — Quentin was, I mean — that you would come at the last minute to say goodbye."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo didn't say 'he told us not to' because, well, she'd known that he would have wanted them there anyway. She'd just been selfish and a fucking coward, because she wasn't sure if she could have actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>watched</span>
  </em>
  <span> him walk through the damn thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Doesn't matter now. He has his life and we have ours," Margo said. "I watched enough Star Trek to know we shouldn't fuck up the past."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bubble was shrinking now. Alice had said that, according to her calculations, when it disappeared again, that's when the past would lock in again. She thought so, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If that's what you want," Alice said, but there was a hitch in her voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wait… what do you know?" Margo asked, suspiciously. Alice just shook her head and- okay, Margo knew when she was getting played, but that didn't stop her from complaining later to Eliot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Alice knows something about Quentin that we don't."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot, draped melodramatically across her lap as he was, took a moment to answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She probably knows lots of things about him that we don't, Bambi. Like his full name. We never pushed him on telling us anything."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you regret it?" She stroked through his hair as she asked, soothing and slow. "Not pushing?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No point to it, was there? We all have our secrets." They knew each other's, of course, legacy of a trial and their own recognition of kinship when they'd met, but Quentin… they knew he would be temporary. No reason to push him to share more than he wanted, except, of course...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I regret it," she confessed. "I really fucking do, El."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Eliot agreed, and that was it, for a while.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bubble shrank by the day and Margo found that graduation seemed more like punishment than freedom. What did she even want to do with her life? She couldn't go home and she didn't have any plans. Fucking flotsam, that's what she was. What both she and El were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The problem with the world was that there weren't any mythic quests, not like in the stories. There was just life, the same life that was so fucking boring that she and Eliot had to paper over it with drinking and drugs and screwing anyone pretty enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was that last thing, though, that finally got her brain shifting into a different gear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She and El decided to tag-team a cute muggle at a bar, went back to his apartment, and screwed him silly. Well. Started to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then his roommate walked in, halfway through — and she and Eliot got to bear embarrassed witness to the most awkward confession of feelings between two people that she could ever imagine  enduring but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, and this was the important bit, when the two dumbass roommates started making out and she and El were left alone to collect their clothes and escape the situation…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>relieved</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She genuinely felt relieved that they hadn't fucked the guy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo didn't want to paint over their memories of Q with someone else. Because, apparently, she was a fucking sap too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Julia gasped as the gust of air fluttered the tower of cards, sending it to the ground. Quentin beamed at her, a warm glow in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And that was truly my Julia, not you?" James asked, reaching out his fingers to feel the breeze himself. "Beyond wonderous."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"All her," Quentin promised, releasing his hold on the rest of the cards and letting them drop to the table. "So Jules, how does it feel to perform magic?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"As if I've discovered my life's purpose," she said, her words sincere against his teasing. "Oh, is there any way for you to take us back with you to this… you called it 'Brakebills'?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin's heart dropped, though he did his best not to let his smile waver. "Too perilous, I fear. The method Miss Quinn used caused damage to the world as long as I was there, with only my return the cure. But, if you like, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> return with me to England. I have much more that I learned from the professors-" and fellow students "-at Brakebills. Far too much to cover in what time we have left together. My mother grows impatient." And if her letters were this sharp already, she must be even more aggravated by the time they reached him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yet your duty is unfulfilled," James reminded him. "You need a bride, my friend. I shudder to think of your dear mama's reaction if you should return without one."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"She will make you regret ever returning to us, dearest," Julia agreed. "Surely, some maid among the crowd can… if not compete with this incomparable Margo you've spoken of, at least prove a soothing balm?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had not told them about Eliot, of course. It was only strange when he remembered how open the future had been, how honest. But it had been second-nature, truly, eliding Margo-and-Eliot into one complicated, impossibly perfect woman, easier than it would have been to explain to his oldest friend that he enjoyed the company of men in addition to that of women. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I will keep my heart open," Quentin promised and he would… he would try.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot rolled over, looked at the boy in bed with him, and felt such a crushing disappointment that he could barely breathe. With great practice, he plastered a smile on his face before waking up… Mike?... and making him breakfast before sending him on his way. Operation 'Fuck Quentin Out' continued to be a massive failure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could trick his dick, but he couldn't fool his useless heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot really had done his best not to be an idiot but in retrospect, he shouldn't have bothered trying. It had been the same with Margo — once he realized he wanted her in his life, there was no getting her out of his heart, even if he'd wanted to. And Quentin… there was no getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of Eliot's heart either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We made a mistake," Eliot said to Margo that night. Finally, finally, he said it, after wanting to ever since Quentin had left. "We shouldn't have let him go."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He couldn't stay," Margo rebutted, though she didn't look happy about it. "You saw what that spell's residue was doing to Brakebills. He didn't have a choice."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it stuck him, right then. An obvious solution or- maybe it was just his mind latching onto another chance to see Quentin again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We could go to him," Eliot said, and it was… impossible, of course. Wasn't it? There were a million potential regrets in that choice and, fuck, it really might not be possible. It might fuck up time worse than Quentin being plucked out in the first place. "Almost all our modern toys can be replaced by magic. So why the fuck not?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo looked as struck by the thought as he was. What did they really leave behind here, after all? The families they hated? They were nearly done with Brakebills anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Our own adventure," Margo said, thoughtfully. "You and me, fucking off together into the wild blue yonder. Fuck, yeah. Let's do it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, it wasn't that easy. For starters, they needed Alice on side, and when they went to her, she was not inclined to agree.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Absolutely not," she said, flatly. "Look, you miss Quentin and… I guess I sorta understand. He wasn't completely awful. But we can't mess around with time like that. My work- my work showed how dangerous it was. And I didn't- I didn't want that to be the result but it is. And we have to accept it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're </span>
  <em>
    <span>magicians</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Margo said. "We do the impossible for breakfast."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We take full responsibility for the consequences," Eliot said, and Alice narrowed her eyes. "You'll have the spell. If we screw up the timeline, you should still be able to come back and haul us out by the scruff of our necks."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Only until the bubble collapses," Alice said. "That's when my initial spell, the one that started all this, finally ends. And have you really thought this through? You'll be stuck in the nineteenth century — if I don't bring you back, you won't have any way back on your own. Even living with a duke, I doubt it'll be pleasant all the time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot felt his mouth drop open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"A </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" he asked, voice faint. "He's a what?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Quentin has a title?" Margo raised her eyebrows. "Son of a bitch held out on us."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh. He never said?" Alice wrinkled her nose. "Huh. Um, yeah. He's the duke of… eh, I wasn't honestly paying attention. I used a scrying spell to pick the date and time of the initial casting, because I didn't want my own biases to lead me, and- wow, you two didn't pay any attention to my thesis at all, did you?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There are so many proposals each year. No one can remember them all," Eliot said dismissively, though with a pang of regret.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, anyway, I had to pick a specific person in that location and time to latch onto, so I went and looked up some old microfilm papers and looked at the society pages. He was mentioned because-"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"-because he wasn't just some guy looking for a wife, he was a goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>duke</span>
  </em>
  <span> looking for an </span>
  <em>
    <span>heiress</span>
  </em>
  <span> to marry." Margo sounded halfway between delighted and pissed. "The clues were there, El, if we'd asked the questions."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We didn't want to know, not really," Eliot said. "We didn't want to make him too real."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And now Alice looked almost as if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitied</span>
  </em>
  <span> them, which really couldn't be allowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There must be some kind of bargain we can make," Eliot said. "There must be something you want."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alice hesitated.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Showing Julia and James the basics of magic soon enough became Julia racing forward, seeing what she could do to push the limits of what he'd learned at Brakebills. They would be coming back to England with him, they'd decided.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as Quentin picked out a wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It still felt like an impossible task. Yet, he had to do it, so Quentin pulled out a trick suggested to him by the therapist Penny and Kady had introduced him to — he made a list of the 'pros and cons', the good and bad points of each of the ladies in question, and did his best to work out how they might fit into his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had — very nearly — settled on Miss Amelia Barnes. Her fortune was enough to please his mother and she was not a timid, retiring sort. She was pretty, but in a blonde, pastel way that reminded him nothing of Margo and Eliot, so he would, hopefully, not be tempted to compare her to the incomparable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had yet to make him laugh, but perhaps a sense of humor would show in time. Regardless, the situation was growing more acute. In her latest missive, his mother had let him know she would be boarding the next ship to New York, so his time was running out. If he did not pick a bride himself, he would find one picked </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Quentin did not have a great deal of faith in his mother's ability to find him any shred of happiness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Miss Amelia Barnes would have to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"My shoes are ruined," Margo mourned, yanking them off her aching feet. But, exhausted as they were, they'd done it. Alice hadn't really cared about time travel </span>
  <em>
    <span>per se</span>
  </em>
  <span> as much as she'd cared about getting to the bottom of her brother's murder. Time travel was just the means she'd latched onto in order to find out why he'd died. And now she could whatever she wanted with the information, whether it was revenge or justice. Margo and Eliot had held up their end of the deal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Help me pack," Eliot said, ignoring her plight. Margo sighed expansively, but came over anyway. She'd packed earlier, certain they would secure Alice's agreement, and Eliot had helped her out too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So, once we make the plunge, we'll never have netflix again," Margo said. She didn't mention the veritable library she'd tucked away in her bag. Eliot had never much cared for reading. "No more Patrick Swayze."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot scoffed, "Oh, there's always some Swayze. Check the front pocket."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo took a peek… and stifled a laugh at the miniaturized entertainment center tucked away in the pocket dimension inside. "Well played."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And you said buying dvds was a waste of money," Eliot said, satisfied. "Honey, I've got </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> our favorites in there."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We're really doing this," Margo said. "Leaving the world behind."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Regrets already?" Eliot asked, and he was only mostly teasing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There's regrets either way," Margo said, more sincerely than he'd been expecting, judging by the widening of his eyes. "Fewer this way, I think. Modern life has comforts but… fuck, El. Not a shitton of happiness. Not for us, anyway."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Eliot agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They met Alice in Dean Fogg's office — they had to get his permission too, she'd said. Margo kinda hoped he wouldn't set them a task, too, but fuck, she'd do it if she had to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fogg sat and his desk, listened to the three of them explain the plan, and then he smiled wider than she'd ever seen. "Finally. I was beginning to think I would need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask</span>
  </em>
  <span> you to go."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"...what?" Eliot asked. Margo felt as baffled as he looked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fogg chuckled, then pulled open his desk drawer, tossing a wide but thin book in their direction and it was-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a sketchbook. It was-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I did this," Eliot said, his voice breathless. He glanced at her, eyes wide. "I can- but it's better than I can do now. I must… I must practice."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first page was Quentin, the lines simple but clear. His hair was tied up and he was wearing period clothing and he was- he was older, she thought, or maybe that was the weight of his title. Eliot flipped to the next sketch and it was her to the life, all dressed up, one ankle kicked up onto a bench and showing, Margo was sure, a scandalous amount of ankle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We really do go back," she said, feeling a thousand contradictory emotions, all at once. Fogg gestured and the book pulled itself out of Eliot's hands. He tucked it back inside his desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You really do," he confirmed. "Miss Quinn, I have some specific adjustments to the Circumstances before you perform your casting."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You knew what was happening from the first time you saw Quentin," Alice said, soundly vaguely accusatory. Eliot shook his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He knew when he saw Bambi come for her test to get into Brakebills," Eliot corrected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Indeed, I did, Mister Waugh," Fogg confirmed. "I wasn't sure when it would happen, but the Deans of Brakebills have been waiting for Miss Hanson for over a century. That book was gifted to us with the understanding that it would be used as a guide. A solemn promise from one head of a magical college to another. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> is all I can say about it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's enough," Margo said, and her emotions had settled into a surprised sort of happiness. "It's more than enough."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin allowed his mother to fuss at his clothes. She had, possibly, earned the right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> approve of Miss Amelia Barnes. She didn't approve that he had yet to share his intentions with the lady herself. Fair enough, he supposed. Quentin had engaged Mister Barnes in some general conversation but hadn't been entirely certain of how to broach the topic of marrying the man's daughter, so the subject had fallen by the wayside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would need to avoid that tonight, to steal himself to ask Miss Barnes if he might approach her father. She would know in an instant what was meant by that, his mother assured him, and she would be sure to tell her father. All extremely exhausting, but terribly necessary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since his mother had arrived, Quentin hadn't much time to practice magic with Julia and James, but she had been pleased to hear that the pair of them would be coming back with him. His mother, Quentin discovered, quite despaired of America in general. Nothing was to her taste here, and she wanted to quit the country as soon as could be arranged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which meant Quentin needed a wife. Soon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so his mother fussed over his clothes and gave him last-minute courting advice and Quentin just let it wash over him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt much the same at the party, familiar dread coiled in his stomach as he endured polite conversation. He waited for his opening and then headed in Miss Barnes's direction. But it was Eliot he saw first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin almost stumbled, shock lancing through him. But, yes, those were Eliot's curls and his eyes and, Quentin's gaze drifted down and to the side, seeing Margo next to him, where she always belonged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if in a daze, he walked right past Miss Barnes, stopped in front of Eliot and Margo. He could feel the weight of eyes upon them, but his joy was too great and he said, in a tone much too exuberant, "I had not thought to see you again in this lifetime. You must-" Quentin reached out, grabbed their hands. He must be shocking the crowd dearly. He found it difficult to care. "Do you plan to stay a while? You must meet my dear friends who are hosting tonight."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But instead of taking them to Julia, he led them away, to a quiet room upstairs. Julia's bedchamber, in fact, though she rarely used it, preferring the company of her husband.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You both look beyond lovely," he said, once they were all in private. Someone — not Miss Quinn — had dressed them properly for the evening. Margo tugged at her neckline, which was not at all proper but delightfully Margo. "I wasn't aware you would be able to visit me. This is… a delightful surprise."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We didn't come to visit," Eliot said, and Quentin's heart beat double-time in his chest. "We came to stay."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No going back," Margo added. "You're stuck with us."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was impossible. Surely, they had not truly given up the wonders of the future merely for-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet they were here. That fact was indisputable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You chose this?" He touched the corner of Eliot's mouth, the swell of Margo's cheek. "For me?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course, dummy," Margo said, as if it should have been obvious. As if he should have already known.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span> is going on here? How do you know these people? Why are you sequestering yourself in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bedchamber</span>
  </em>
  <span> with them, of all places? Are you touching that woman's </span>
  <em>
    <span>mouth</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother practically sprinted into the room, closing the door behind herself and leaning on it. Honestly, Quentin wasn't certain what good that would do against someone else trying to burst in, as his mother was rather flimsily-built. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah, introductions are in order, I suppose," Quentin said, pulling away his hand. On reflection, he wasn't at all surprised she had noticed his distraction and followed him. He should have expected it, but as soon as he had seen Eliot and Margo, his sense had left him entirely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Right, is this when you tell us you're a duke?" Margo asked, amused rather than annoyed, which was a relief. His mother, naturally, did not look amused in the least. The idea of avoiding using one's rank was not something she would approve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I suppose it is," Quentin said. "But I'm a rather ramshackle one. I did tell you that I came to America to marry for money, if you'll recall."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother gasped out a horrified, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Coldwater</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We do," Eliot said. He glanced over at Quentin's mother and… managed a credible bow. "Our deepest apologies, ma'am. American informality must come as a shock. I am Eliot Waugh, and this is Margo Hanson."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mother sent Quentin a scathing look, so he hurriedly said, "You have the honor of meeting the Duchess of Coldwater. My mother. Mother-" Quentin took a moment to look over Margo and Eliot, then added, "I shall not be asking Miss Barnes for permission to court her, not if they- not if Miss Hanson came here with an answer of her own."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I see," his mother managed to straighten her spine even more than normal. "I would warn you, if she said 'no' before, only to come running once she learned of your title, then I do not approve."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo stepped forward and, to Quentin's shock, reached out and clasped his mother's hands in her own. "I was told after I had already decided to come. I know you have no reason to believe me, but it's the truth. Ma'am."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your grace," his mother corrected, but less sharply than Quentin would have expected. "Hmm. You are- not the sort of woman I would have thought my son would- perhaps I have misjudged him. Is your family in attendance tonight, Miss Hanson?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Margo arranged her face to look exceedingly tragic; Quentin was impressed. "My cousin Eliot — Mister Waugh — is the closest I have to family left in this world, your grace." His mother's face softened further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I understand," she said and, to Quentin's astonishment, patted Margo's hand. "My own parents passed before I married as well, dear." Then, more briskly, she looked at Quentin and said, "I will retire with Miss Hanson to a private room while you discuss more delicate matters with her cousin."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After his mother and Margo left, Quentin near collapsed, if not for Eliot's steady arms. "Margo is a true marvel."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's our Bambi," Eliot agreed. "Delicate matters is about money, I take it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah, yes," Quentin frowned. "That is a tricky wrinkle."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not to a magician," Eliot said cheerfully. "We can easily create a means of wealth. Bambi and I talked all that through, don't worry. So, when do we get to meet Julia?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin laughed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot finished the sketch of his, well, not-quite mother-in-law with decided satisfaction. Quentin's mother — 'call me Eleanor, at least in private' — had turned out to be surprisingly amenable to the true nature of his relationship with Quentin. She had fostered quite the </span>
  <em>
    <span>tendre</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a fellow young lady in her finishing school days and the revelation that her son shared similar secrets had changed their relationship vastly for the better. So her smile in the drawing held both affection and a touch of mild bemusement, making her look much more like Quentin than she had when Eliot had first met her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And this was the first sketch in his book that he hadn't already seen in the future. That made it special, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should miss more things about the life they'd left behind, maybe, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> miss New York. But it was astonishingly easy to just… let go. He didn't need all that fancy technology, didn't need the partying and drugs. He had Bambi and he had Q, and that made up for any number of modern conveniences.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gave Eleanor a friendly kiss on her powdered cheek and left her to the garden, going off in search of the others.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had settled into a good sort of life here, with Julia thirsting for all the magical knowledge that he and Margo could share. Her husband, James, didn't have as strong a hunger for the lessons but he was happy to have another shared interest with his wife. It was Julia, though, who had suggested trying to find the British equivalent of Brakebills, and who was the main author of their correspondence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot wandered into Quentin's private chambers, where Margo was still in bed, with her slight, cute snore. Quentin had dressed and gone hours ago, with so much pressing business to attend now that he had funds to invest in his estate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Time to get up, sleepyhead," he told her, brushing her hair back from her forehead. She mumbled a curse at him and he chuckled. "Duties of a duchess and all that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck you," she said, but got up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot blew her a kiss, and did a quick casting to help alleviate the worst of her hangover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was sure she had to admit it was all worth it later — their first official party with Margo as the new duchess was a smashing success. She and Quentin danced a scandalous number of times for a married couple, and Quentin — who still disliked parties, in the main — then allowed Eliot and Margo to perform the hosting duties while Quentin retired to talk over more practical concerns with some of his neighbors.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Afterwards, of course, was even better.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you," Quentin said, as they lay together in a tangle of limbs. Not for the first time and certainly not for the last. Eliot leaned over to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The pleasure is ours," he said, making Quentin laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was true. Not that there wouldn't be hard times in the future — Quentin could be stubborn, and Margo certainly took no shit. But the future did seem much more full of possibility and of love than it had back at Brakebills. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We should bequeath a 'thank you' to Alice," Eliot mused. "If not for her thesis…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was always meant to be," Margo said, softer than she normally got. At his questioning look, she said, "What? It's true. We were </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be here. I'm just glad we figured it out ourselves and we didn't need Fogg to tell us."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Whether it was destiny or free will, I'm glad of it," Quentin said firmly. "I cannot imagine a happy life without the two of you beside me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sap," Margo said, fondly. She waved her hand in the direction of the bookshelf. "Come on, Coldwater. Read us a story."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quentin laughed and reached out his hand, successfully </span>
  <em>
    <span>willing</span>
  </em>
  <span> their current book into his hand. Margo had read it already, but it was as new to Eliot as it was to Quentin, and listening to Quentin read was much more enjoyable than doing it himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most things were more enjoyable with Quentin than without. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eliot wasn't ready to say it out loud, not just yet, but he knew that warmth was love.</span>
</p>
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